


Of Monster Hunters and Strangely Familiar Men

by SirCumference



Series: Scenes from the Multiverse [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Alternate Universe - The Witcher Fusion, Alternate Universe - Thieves, BAMF Keith (Voltron), BAMF Lance (Voltron), Bar Room Brawl, First Meetings, Grumpy Keith (Voltron), M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutants, Pining Keith (Voltron), giant wolves, wow I love those tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 05:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19805653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirCumference/pseuds/SirCumference
Summary: All Keith wanted was to get into the town, get a contract, and get the fuck out. But of course, some weird and overly friendly thief type guy decided he wanted to come along for the ride. It didn't exactly go well - they got into a brawl not two minutes after they met. And yet, for some reason, Keith seems to have a hard time saying no to him.OR A fantasy AU where Keith is a mutant trained to kill monsters from birth, and "Pike" is a thief that has no problem admitting it. This is how they met.





	Of Monster Hunters and Strangely Familiar Men

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot can be read on its own, or it can be read as an epilogue to my previous fic, Poor Boys and Pilgrims. You really don't need to have read PBP to enjoy this - it's an entirely new AU with a new story and new characters. But if you have read it, you might want to check this out to get a sense of the narrative coming full circle. 
> 
> You also don't need to be familiar with the Witcher canon to enjoy this. I'm taking _many_ liberties with crafting this world, and it's really not meant to be a perfect crossover type deal. 
> 
> If y'all couldn't tell already, I'm kind of in love with The Witcher. I knew it was only a matter of time before I'd get around to writing a Klance Witcher AU, given how Keith is literally a perfect candidate for taking on that role; he's an orphan, has weird biology, is hotheaded, likes swords, likes wolves, and likes working alone. It was too perfect to pass up.
> 
> Enjoy!

**_5_**  
The moon is awful bright tonight. It’s making Kosmo kind of antsy. He’s growling a little, huffing at every step as Keith rides him closer and closer to the town entrance. This doesn’t bode well — he normally has a hard time convincing guards to let Kosmo hang out at the stables while he takes care of business. It’s not like his direwolf has ever really done anything _seriously_ bad, save maybe scaring a couple children who may or may not have been a tad too nosy. Still, most common folk don’t take too kindly to giant, hulking, carnivorous wolves nowadays, especially with witchers riding at their backs. This might take some convincing.

“Ye can’t bring the wof’ in,” the guard says when Keith arrives barely within earshot. Figures.

“I’m just passing through,” he huffs in response, trying not to sound too impatient. “He’ll just sleep in the stables while I stop by the inn.”

The guard tilts his head, an obnoxious smile curling at his lips. “You fink I’ll just let you tie yer wof’ ap wif a bunch a’ horses? You fink I’m stupid?”

Keith exhales, long and drawn out. Normally, he’d just throw some coin in the guard’s face and call it a win, but his pockets have been especially empty lately — hence the whole ‘desperately seeking work in any random, small town he happens upon’ thing. 

Kosmo growls. The guard flinches. 

“Fine,” Keith huffs. He dismounts the saddle in one swift motion and unhooks his pack from his wolf’s side. He digs his hands in the fur at Kosmo’s neck, nuzzling him a little. He always gets a little anxious when Keith leaves him alone and out of sight, especially under a full moon. “I’ll be back soon, buddy, okay?” he mumbles into his fur. Kosmo whines in response. 

“Stay,” Keith commands, pointing a finger upward as he steps back toward the town entrance, vaguely aware of the idiotic guard’s eyes on him. Kosmo plops his butt down, whining again — this time a little more desperate, a little more sad. It breaks Keith’s heart a little. “I’ll be quick.”

His wolf huffs, turning his head away indignantly. Oh well. Keith supposes that’s better than watching him have a full-on crying fit like last time this sort of thing happened. He’d felt immensely guilty for days, even after Kosmo had long forgiven him for the upset. 

When he turns around to make his way into town, a hand stops him at his chest. He glares at the guard, head turning only slightly upward to meet his gaze. The guard leers. 

“You leavin’ me alone wif ‘im?”

Keith rolls his eyes, casting a glance back and where his dog is already keeled over, almost half asleep. He looks back at the guard, eyebrows raised. “He’s not gonna do anything.”

The guard squints. The hand at Keith’s chest tightens. 

“One wrong move and we’ll ‘ave yer ‘ead, witcher.”

Keith sighs, exhausted. This guy isn’t the first bone-headed town guard to throw empty threats his way, disregarding the two very sharp and _very_ well-crafted swords at his back and his slitted pupils against yellow irises — telltale physical manifestations of the mutations he underwent as a kid. Keith does prefer avoiding conflict altogether, given how easy it is for him to reduce most opponents to whining, bleeding, messes pleading for mercy. Arguing, though, is a waste of time as well. 

“I’ll be good,” he deadpans. The man drops his hand. Keith makes his way into town without a second look.

The inn appears to be the only light source around, besides the full moon of course. All homes are shut down and dark for the night, and the inn is like a beacon of promise amidst otherwise bleak surroundings. Damn, it must really be a while since Keith got himself a good gig if _that’s_ what a shitty inn in this buttfuck-nowhere town is looking like to him right now.

Most people inside are absolutely plastered, either arguing or joking loudly. Keith can’t really tell. He opts to ignore them, making a beeline for the young barmaid instead. 

“What can I get ya?” she asks, dragging a rag across the counter, not looking at him.

“Know of any contracts?” he asks, straight to the point. She raises her head and meets his gaze, brow furrowing. 

“Know of one, yea. You a proper witcher?”

“Yep,” Keith responds, popping the ‘p’. He’s mildly resentful that non-witchers and bounty hunters have been keen on taking up witcher contracts lately. It gives him more competition for gigs, even though most of them end up failing miserably, leaving him to clean up more of a mess. 

“There’s a wyvern’s nest jus’ Southeast o’ town, right by the farm. A mother and eight hatchlings, I reckon. ‘Been terrorizing the poor farmer and his sheep. You can talk to him in the mornin.’”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Keith mutters. Poor farmers won’t pay handsomely, and an entire family of wyverns isn’t exactly the easiest kill, especially with a protective new mother watching over her babies. Still, a job’s a job and it’s been a while since he’s been paid.

“Sounds like a two-person gig.”

Keith whips his head to the side, met with a young man sitting at the bar, nursing a pint of ale. He’s wearing a red scarf around his head pushing up a messy head of brown hair. Clothed in studded leather armor, a midnight blue scarf and cloak, and matching leather gloves, his lip curls into a grin, head tilting slightly to the left as he meets Keith’s gaze. After a split second, his blue eyes bulge wide in their sockets. 

“Dude, your eyes are kind of fucked up.”

Keith scowls. He turns back to the barmaid and utters a small thanks.

“Why are they like that?” the guy persists. He scoots his barstool closer to Keith, leaning forward into his space. He squints. “They look like a cat’s.”

“I’m aware,” Keith huffs. He makes a vague gesture at the cat-shaped pendant around his neck. “Comes with the job.”

“Duuuuude, no way,” the guy mumbles. His face brightens. “You’re a witcher!”

“Hmph,” Keith grunts, turning toward the door. 

“Wait, wait!” Bar guy reaches a hand out, clasping him on the shoulder. Keith stops, though he’s not sure why. He could easily just keep walking. 

“Have a drink with me?” When he turns to glare at bar guy, he’s met with bizarrely sincere eyes. “I can help you with that contract, if you want.”

Keith crosses his arms, looking the man up and down. He’s probably some over-confident bounty hunter type willing to do anything for a quick buck, completely unaware of the intricacies of dealing with monstrous beasts — and he’d probably only slow Keith down.

“I work alone,” Keith huffs.

The guy’s face drops. He leans his head on his fist and squints at Keith again. “Have we met before?”

“What?” Keith startles a little. It’s weird — now that he’s mentioned it, he does seem a tad familiar. He’s definitely not from here, given how his accent sounds more like Keith’s and less like everyone else. But Keith doesn’t exactly “meet” many people in his line of work. He barely remembers the last conversation he had that lasted longer than only thirty seconds. 

“No,” Keith answers, though it kind of feels like he’s lying. He doesn’t really know why.

“Okay,” the guys hops off his seat and stretches out his back. “You’re not taking care of a fucking nest of wyverns alone. I’m gonna help you.”

“I don’t wanna have to clean your dead body up after we’re done. So, no.”

“You underestimate me.” He smirks. “I’m not doing it for coin, by the way. Just for fun. You can keep the reward.”

Keith eyes him questioningly. He doesn’t say anything.

“I’ve got plenty of coin, don’t need it. I swear.” Bar guy raises a hand to his heart.

“Sounds suspicious.”

“That’s because it is. Good ear.” He winks. 

“What do you do?” Keith asks, more out of sheer curiosity than anything. He’s not entirely sure what’s keeping him tethered to this spot. Maybe he’s been craving human contact more than he knew. 

The guy offers him what appears to be a genuine smile. He leans back against the bar and grabs his drink, finishing off his ale in one long sip. He licks his lip after he’s done and grins at Keith, taking a hand out of his pocket and waving a coin purse at him tauntingly. 

_Wait._

“What the — is that my fucking coin purse?!” Keith gasps, completely infuriated. The guy laughs and throws it at his chest. 

“There’s like, three coppers in it. It’s kind of sad, honestly. I didn’t take anything.”

Keith scowls, clutching the purse to his chest. He stuffs it in his pocket and turns around without a word a moment later, charging out the door. 

“Wait! Wait, I was kidding!” he hears called after him, along with the sound of leather boots flapping through the mud on the ground against the backdrop of a few men talking loudly by the door.

“So you’re not a thief?” Keith grits out, spinning on his heel. 

“Wha — I mean, yeah, but at least I’m honest about it.”

“Why should I trust you?” 

“Because you’re desperate for cash, obviously, and I’m offering to help you out.”

Keith squints. “Why?”

“For fun.” He grins. 

Keith scoffs. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

The guy rolls his eyes, and before Keith can even register what’s happening, something flashes through the air in front of his face and lands in the outside wall of the inn with a loud _thwock_. The ambient chattering ceases, and Keith turns his head to the sight of three amazed and very drunk men staring at their friend, pinned to the wall by a throwing star at the corner of his sleeve. Keith’s breath hitches. 

Everyone’s eyes fall back on bar guy. He crosses his arms, looking incredibly smug. “I can take care of myself. I know how to kill shit, too.”

Keith opens his mouth, but his retort dies on his tongue at the sound of burly steps getting louder and louder. They both turn to face the three drunk men leering at them and cracking their knuckles. 

“Wot the fok was ‘at?”

“You wanna go?”

Keith groans. Why the fuck does this always happen to him?

“Nope, lads, I’d really rather not,” bar guy responds, all composed, waving his hands casually.“Didn’t mean nothing by it.”

The men don’t seem keen on backing off. They walk closer into their space, making Keith and his companion back up a little. This doesn’t bode well. 

“Ugh,” Keith groans again, raising his hand to unsheath his steel sword from his back. But before he can, a hand stops him.

“Dude, what the hell?” bar guy mutters, side-eyeing him. “You want this to turn into a bloodbath?”

A quick montage of every barfight-turned-bloodbath in Keith’s recent memory flashes before his eyes. Honestly, he’s gotten so used to it happening he’s come to expect it. 

“What else do you want me to do?” Keith mutters, but before he can get an answer, a fist makes contact with his jaw with a loud _crack_ , sending him staggering off to the side. 

“ _FUCK!_ ” 

When he opens his eyes, he charges at his assailant, fists at the ready. He leaves his sword sheathed at his back. 

He makes quick work of the large, burly drunkard, flipping him around, tripping him, and digging his face into the dirt. Finally, Keith unsheathes his sword and uses its handle to knock him out.

He looks up to see bar guy skidding on his knees in the mud and clotheslining one of the other guys in the knee, knocking him down. He whips off his scarf and begins choking him a moment later, a knee at his opponents back, holding him against the ground.

The third guy rushes over to Keith, fists swinging, and he spins around and uses the blunt end of the sword to bump the guy behind his knees, sending him falling face-first. Keith takes him out with another firm knock to the head with his sword’s handle. 

“On your left!” bar guy yells, and Keith turns around to the sight of the fourth man, freed of the throwing star that had been holding back a moment before. He dodges his fists and spins, trying and failing to get a good hit in. He notices Lance stand up and face them, apparently done with the whole choking thing. 

“Catch!” Keith yells, sending a swift boot kick to his opponent’s back, sending him staggering in bar guy’s direction. Bar guy delivers a sift and firm kick to his crotch, and the man falls forward, howling in pain, his face buried in the mud.

Keith eyes bar guy, chest heaving. He smirks. Bar guy smirks back. 

“GUARDS!” a woman’s voice yells from the entrance of the inn. The barmaid looks absolutely mortified, staring at them in terror. 

“Come on,” bar guy mutters, grabbing Keith’s arm. “Let’s get the hell outta here.” Keith obliges.

“They’re still alive!” bar guy calls after the barmaid once they’ve started running. “No one died, just so you know!”

Keith pulls him by the fabric at his shoulder. “This way, my wolf is here —”

“You have a WOLF?!” bar guy gasps, nearly tripping over his feet as he keeps up with Keith. 

The numbnut guard at the town’s entrance startles in surprise when they zoom past him. 

“Oy! What’re you tew runnin’ from?”

“Kosmo! Up, boy!” Keith commands. He’s vaguely aware that his fingers are still clutched into bar guy’s cloak. 

Kosmo wakes up in an instant, standing and wagging his tail in greeting. Bar guy falters next to him, slowing down.

“Uh, he’s really fuckin’ big —”

“Get up!” Keith yells, not bothering to see whether they’re being pursued. He figues it’ll only slow them down. He grabs bar guy by the armpits and lifts him up nearly effortlessly, throwing him over Kosmo’s back. Bar guy yelps. 

Keith hooks his pack on the saddle and climbs up, tapping Kosmo’s side with his heel. The wolf takes off in an instant, and he reaches behind himself to grab bar guy, making sure he doesn’t fly off. 

“Hold onto me! Get your leg over and hold on!”

He feels bar guy shuffle at his back a few moments, before his legs settle right behind Keith’s and his arms wrap around his chest, so tight he can barely breathe. 

“Holy shit!” he yells in Keith’s ear. Keith only laughs in response. 

Their ride is quick and silent as they make their way to an open field, at least five minutes out from the town. Once Keith figures they’re safe, he slows Kosmo down, figuring this an appropriate place to dismount. 

“We’re getting off,” he mumbles at his companion, grabbing at his arms around his middle. The guy only whines, face buried in the back of Keith’s neck. He tries not to blush. 

Keith shoos him off, slipping off Kosmo’s saddle. Bar guy clumsily slides off as well, staggering and falling forward on the dismount. He glances up at Keith from where he’s kneeling, chest still heaving and eyes almost… fond.

“We did it! We are a good team,” he manages to get out between pants. Keith feels his ears turn red. 

He offers him a hand, pulling him up onto his feet. 

“I’m, uh, Keith,” he adds, against his better judgement. The dude huffs a final exhale and grins. 

“Pike. Pleasure to meet you.”

Keith squints. “Is that your real name?”

“Nope!” Pike beams at him. “But you’re calling me that until I decide I wanna share my real name, kay?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Sure. Whatever.”

“So, what now?” Pike asks, eyes full of hope. Keith’s not entirely sure what to do with that. 

“I’m not going back to that town to kill those wyverns.”

“Oh yeah, fuck that,” Pike agrees. “Let’s find work somewhere else? We could go into the city, I’ve got a buddy that owns a taverne. Might have some leads.”

Keith hums. “The city’s probably a day’s ride away on wolfback, you sure?”

Pike shrugs. “Why not? I could get used to the whole wolf thing, it’s pretty cool.”

Kosmo whines, nosing Pike’s shoulder. He giggles in response, offering up pats to the wolf’s snout. 

“His name is Kosmo,” Keith adds. How he got from trying to brush off a stranger to introducing him to his wolf is kind of beyond him, but desperate times call for desperate measures, he guesses. Whatever. if Pike decides to double cross him, he’ll just wind up dead. 

“If you try anyth —”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pike interrupts, waving a hand at him. “You’ll kill me and my whole family, yada yada. It’s cool, we’re buds now.”

He offers Keith a genuine, tentative smile. It’s a lot more sincere than the looks he’s given him up to this point. Keith’s heart warms a little. Not many people have ever looked at him like that, probably because of the whole killer mutant thing he’s got going on. It feels good to be looked at that way.

“You sure we haven’t met before?” Pike interjects, still idly patting Kosmo. Keith wants to say he’s not sure, but he genuinely doesn’t remember ever meeting him in his entire life. Still, he feels oddly familiar, though he can’t quite put a finger on why. It’s probably not important.

“I haven’t ‘met’ many people in general, so, probably not.” Keith crosses his arms.

“Maybe in another life, then.” Pike winks at him, smirking. 

“So, you’re coming with me?” Keith asks finally, inexplicably eager to change the subject. “You sure?”

Pike glances at field and wilderness surrounding them, chuckling. He looks back at Keith, a crooked smile on his face. “I mean, where else could I go? Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Fair point, honestly. Pike offered him a plan, a direction, and some company. It’s not like he’s got any better alternatives, really. Going off on their separate ways would be kind of dumb at this point. 

Keith observes Pike intently, watching as he returns to scratching Kosmo, this time behind his ears. Something about the sight ignites something inside of him, making him reluctant to part ways this odd, strangely transparent thief. He’s always worked alone, distrustful at his core thanks to one too many sour experiences with common folk. But something about Pike’s openness is making him reconsider — it’s probably a mistake, but he finds himself unable to say no. 

Maybe it’s because of how good Pike looks under the moonlight — all tall and dark, with blue eyes Keith can still make out in only the light of the moon and stars. His gloved fingers are long and nimble as they card through Kosmo’s fur. He finds himself wondering how Pike would look sprawled in the grass, eyes blown wide and panting, falling apart at Keith’s hand. It’s probably best not to think with his dick, but Keith’s been alone for way too long. He can’t exactly help it. 

They set up camp. Pike falls asleep pretty quick in Keith’s emergency bedroll, nestled in kind of adorably against the fur at Kosmo’s side. Needing sleep only every three or four days, Keith stays awake and contemplates meditating to pass the time. Instead, though, he watches Pike snore gently on his back, chest rising and and falling peacefully. 

It’s weird. They’ve only spent a total of probably half an hour together, at this point. And yet, Keith already can’t imagine traveling without him. He’s used to running on instinct — it’s what he was trained to do at a young age, ever since his own instincts were heightened and modified thanks to more trials and procedures than he could ever count. Usually, his instincts prevent him from trusting others. More often than not, he’s right not to — regular humans are unpredictable, brash, and terrible judges of their own limits and abilities. 

Keith’s instincts are telling him to trust Pike, though. It’s as if distrusting him wouldn’t make sense. He doesn’t know why.

Keith closes his eyes, straightening his back. He rests his hands palms up on knees, legs crossed beneath him. He lets his breathing slow, trying not to think too hard about the journey ahead of them come morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: There are 3 main schools of Witchers that correspond to 3 different fighting classes. In canon, the main character Geralt is from the wolf school - a sort of medium armor, combination type fighter. In this AU, Keith is from the cat school, where more emphasis is put on light armor, sneaking, and agility. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this oneshot! I really appreciate it. There will probably be more where this came from because I'm kind of in love with this AU and I want them to kiss. Hope y'all are having a nice day.


End file.
